


Angel In A Bottle

by Mistyeyes73



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Bobby Singer in a Wheelchair, Curse Breaking, Fluff, Gang Violence, Hurt Dean Winchester, Inspired by Fanart, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Mindless Fluff, Parental Bobby Singer, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Prompt Fill, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 04:19:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18045338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistyeyes73/pseuds/Mistyeyes73
Summary: At his kid brother's insistence, Dean goes into a weird shop and ends up tricked into buying an empty bottle labeled "bottled angel."  According to the shop keeper, the bottle will only open to the touch of a Righteous Man.  Ten years later, Dean's in desperate need of a guardian angel.





	Angel In A Bottle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tem637](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tem637/gifts), [Mungojassie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mungojassie/gifts).



> Artwork by Focaccina. Tem, who apparently has a fetish for cute pictures of tiny Cas inside of ordinary household objects, challenged me to write a story about this picture. She was supposed to write one, too. She was also supposed to write one for the angel in a box that inspired "Free Angel." This time, I told her she wasn't getting this story until I got hers. But she joined forces with Jassie in whining and crying and all-caps emailing me, so here it is.
> 
> The song Dean is thinking of in this story is here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxAfDlxbfVk

 

            Tourist trap.  The description may as well have been painted on the front of the building, right next to the sign advertising all of the “wonders” inside.  According to the sign, the shop sold “Arcane and Magikal Artifacts From Around The World.”  Apparently, none of those artifacts came equipped with a spell checker. Dean rolled his eyes and pointedly started past.

            “Dean!”  His little brother was dragging on Dean’s hand, one little finger pointing excitedly at the shop.  “Dean, let’s go in here!”

            Dean kept walking.  “How about we go get some ice cream instead?”

            “After we go in!  Come on, Dean, don’t be a jerk!”  Already, the eleven-year-old was trying to twist his hand free from Dean’s.

            Dean considered his options.  Based on the stubborn look on his brother’s face, Sammy was gearing up for a grade-A tantrum if he didn’t get to at least go into the stupid shop.  Dean sighed. It was too hot and humid for Sammy to be a bitch today.  Fine. Resigned to his fate, the fifteen-year-old reluctantly allowed his brother to pull him into the shop.

            It smelled like an old lady’s wardrobe.  It was also so dark it was hard to see. Probably by design.  Wouldn’t want the sheep you were about to fleece to see how shitty the junk you were about to push on them actually was.  Dean followed his brother inside, rounded a corner, and promptly barked his shin on something hidden by the dim light.  He hopped on one foot for a moment, tried out a word he’d heard Bobby say once when he’d accidentally hammered his own thumb, and glared at Sammy’s resulting giggle.  “Don’t tell dad!”

            Dean did not care for the glint in his brother’s green eyes.  “What’s my silence worth?”

            “How about a distinct lack of my foot up your skinny ass, runt?!”

            “Jerk!”

            “Bitch!”

            “I’m telling dad you said that, too,” Sammy informed him smugly.

            Dean started towards him, and Sammy quickly took a step back, looking up at the older boy.  “I can be bribed?” he offered.

            Dean crossed his arms over his chest.  “I’m listening.”

            “Buy me one cool thing of my choice and my silence is assured.”

            The older boy considered this.  “Depends entirely upon how expensive it is,” he said at last.

            “Deal!”  Sammy immediately bolted, racing through the shop, touching any number of no doubt easily breakable and unreasonably expensive items.

            Dean winced, bracing for the sound of broken glass. When he thankfully heard no such sound, he dared to open his eyes.

            Something gleamed on one of the shelves.

            Dean blinked, and the odd light was gone.  He could have sworn he saw it, though. Something had been glowing with an odd blue-white light.  He moved over to the shelf and looked at the items for sale.  It was exactly the sort of cheap crap Dean had expected to see in a shop like this, gaudy crystals and fake shrunken heads, bits of feathers and bone, small bags containing God only knew what that were supposed to be for protection, even a few rolled-up bits of parchment supposedly containing magical spells. But among them, right where Dean remembered seeing the odd glow, was a small, corked bottle.  It was about six inches tall and wrapped with silver wire.

            Dean picked up the bottle and came dangerously close to dropping it.  He’d gotten a static shock when he picked it up.  Weird.  Dean frowned, holding the bottle up to the light.  It was empty.  The cork was held in place with a thin, wire-like metal band engraved with tiny symbols.  More symbols were faintly etched into the bottle itself.  If Dean hadn’t been holding the bottle up to the light, he wouldn’t have seen them.  A paper tag had been attached to the bottle with a bit of string.  It read, “Bottled angel.  See management for pricing.”

            “What did you find?  Something cool?”

            “Something stupid,” Dean growled.  “An empty bottle.”

            Sam frowned in confusion.  “Who would want to buy an empty bottle?”

            “Sammy, who would want to buy any of this crap?” Dean shook his head.  “Did you decide on a suitable bribe?”

            Sammy held up a small dream catcher, decorated with sparkling fake gemstones and cheap feathers that would no doubt fall apart in a week.  “Think dad will let me hang it in the Impala?”

            “When pigs fly.”

            “Fine,” Sammy said, undeterred.  “I’ll just hang it up above my bed, then.  Come on, Dean, it’s only five bucks!”

            “Highway robbery if you ask me!”

            “Oh yeah?  How much are you paying for that stupid empty bottle?”

            “Nothing!”

            “Then put it back on the shelf!”

            “Fine!”  Dean put the bottle back, dug into his pocket, and produced his wallet.  It contained a twenty and a five, all that was left of the money he’d mowed lawns all summer to earn.  For a moment, he considered breaking the twenty.  Then he shook his head.  That was stupid.  Sammy wanted something that cost five bucks, and here was that exact amount.  He reluctantly produced the five and handed it to his brother.

            “Thanks!”  Sammy made the money vanish as neatly as any magician, racing towards the cash register.

            Dean shook his head, shoving his wallet back into his pocket.  Once again, his eyes were drawn to the bottle.  He picked it up, curious.  Who would buy something like this?  And why so mysterious about the price?  Dean frowned at it.  He was sure that this was the source of the weird glow he’d seen earlier.  But nothing about it seemed capable of producing it.  It certainly wasn’t glowing now.  Just to be sure, Dean carefully cupped the little bottle in his hands, blocking out the light, and held it to his eye.

            Darkness.  Then a deep blue eye opened up, looking directly back at him.

            Dean yelped, dropping the bottle.  “Whoa!” called a voice as a hand deftly shot out to catch the bottle.  “You break it, you bought it, kid.”

            The owner of the voice was a man with wavy brown hair and amber eyes.  He was smiling at Dean in a way that made Dean feel somehow as if he was the victim of a prank only the man knew about.  Dean frowned.  “Sorry.”

            “No problem.”  The man extended a hand.  “Name’s Gabriel, and I’m the manager here.  Welcome to my humble establishment!”

            “Um, Dean.”  Dean shook.  He didn’t know what else to do.  His eyes once more drifted to the bottle.  What the hell had he just seen?

            Apparently, Gabriel noticed Dean’s look.  “I see you’ve discovered the best item in my shop!”

            Oh, here it came, the stupid sales pitch. Dean rolled his eyes.  “Dude, no offense, but if an empty bottle is the best item in your shop...?”

            “This bottle is anything but empty.”  Gabriel’s smile grew wider.  “But you know that, don’t you, Dean?  Tell me.  Did he call to you?”

            “Did...?  Wait, you said ‘he?’  It’s an empty bottle!”

            “That so?”

            “Yeah?”

            Gabriel lifted the bottle and held it to the light, much like Dean had done earlier.  “For an empty bottle, it sure seemed to give you a start.”

            Dean shifted.

            “This bottle is not empty,” Gabriel said.  His voice suddenly grew soft.  “It’s a prison.”

            “A prison?  For who?”

            “My brother.”  Gabriel indicated the tag.  “There is an angel trapped inside of this bottle.  I’ve kept him here, waiting for the right one to free him. He’s been here for years now. When the one who can free him comes in, he’ll know.  And he’ll call out to that person.”  He smiled. “He called out to you, Dean.”

            “Um, Gabe?” Dean said, speaking slowly.  “If he’s trapped in the bottle, why don’t you just pull the cork?”

            Gabriel actually laughed.  “It’s not that easy.  I told you, he’s my brother.  These markings?”  Gabriel held the bottle to the light again, showing the etchings to Dean.  “These are spell bindings.  They’re what’s keeping him trapped.  And since I’m an angel myself...”

            “Um, what?”

            “Believe me, Dean-o, if I could have gotten him out of this stupid bottle, I’d have done it years ago.  But I can’t.  Those wardings are too strong, even for me.”

            “Right.”  Dean wanted to get Sammy and leave as quickly as they could, avoiding eye contact with the madman.  “A moment ago, you were telling me that if I break the bottle I bought it.  Now it’s magically protected?”

            “It’s always been magically protected.  It’s also got my brother trapped in it.  Would you want to be trapped in a bottle and have someone drop you on the floor?”  Gabriel shook his head.  “Bottom line, dropping it won’t work.  Smashing it with a hammer won’t work.  You can try everything from a jack hammer to a blow torch to dynamite.  The only thing that can open this bottle is the touch of a Righteous Man.”

            “Um, I touched it and nothing happened.”

            “Um, you’re neither righteous nor a man.”

            “Hey!”

            Gabriel raised a hand.  “Sorry, kid, just stating facts.  And here’s the facts.  My brother knows the one who will free him.  He called out to you, you’re the guy.  Just not today.  So buy the bottle...”

            “Buy the bottle?  You’re seriously trying to sell me your own brother?”

            “It’s got to be a legal transaction for the spell to work, kid!  Plus, I’ve got overhead.  Anyway, buy the bottle.  Take it and store it somewhere safe.  Then grow up. Be strong.  Be brave.  Be righteous! And when the time comes, touch the bottle again, and free my brother.  I promise he’ll make it worth your while.”

            Dean groaned aloud.  “Fine, I’ll bite just because it’s a cool story.  How much for the stupid empty bottle?”

            “An angel in a bottle!”

            “Whatever.”

            Gabriel looked down at Dean and seemed to study him, tapping the bottle’s cork against his chin.  “Well, it’s an angel’s prison, which makes it extremely valuable.”

            “Hey, gotta go, see ya!”

            “Hold on!”  Gabriel quickly moved to block Dean’s exit.  “To anyone but you, it’s a mildly interesting conversation piece. So I guess for you I should make a special exception and not charge you too much for it.”

            “You shouldn’t charge me anything for it!  I’m saving your brother, right?!”

            “Legal transaction and overhead,” Gabriel reminded. “Besides, giving things away for free is just bad business.  Tell you what.  I see your wallet in your pocket there.  Reach in, grab the first bill in it, and we’ll call this paid in full.”

            “Deal!”  The first bill in his wallet was a five.  That was honestly way more than he should be paying for an empty bottle, even if it did have a cool story to tell chicks.  But when Dean opened his wallet, his eyes fell in dismay on the twenty.  Then they moved to Sam, who had just paid for his dream catcher.  “Son of a bitch!  I knew I should have broken that twenty!”

            Five minutes later, Dean was storming out of the shop, bottle in his pocket and confused brother in hand.  “Dean?” Sam was asking.  “Aren’t we getting ice cream?”

            “Not unless you’re planning on doing dishes to pay for it,” Dean grumbled.  “I’m broke.”

            “You are not!  You had a twenty in your wallet!”

            “Yes, Sammy, ‘had’ being the operative word.”

            Sammy eyed him, noting Dean’s empty hands. “What did you buy for twenty dollars?”

            “Nothing,” Dean grumbled, feeling the empty bottle bump against his leg as he walked.  “Absolutely nothing!”

_Ten Years Later_

            Dean groaned in pain as his body slid down a piece of shit Silverado that the owner was determined to try to keep in working condition.  He spat blood and looked up at his tormentors, focusing on the douche bag with the gold nose ring.  “You assholes hit like girls, you know that?”

            “You know why we’re here,” Nosering announced.

            Of course.  He’d known the gang would send someone around sooner or later. Apparently, today was the day.  Dean carefully wiped blood off of his face and struggled to his feet to face the men.  “I already told you we’re not paying,” he told them.  “What you’re doing is illegal.  I’ve already called the cops.”

            “Yeah, Officer Poindexter, wasn’t it?” another man said.  “He was sure to let us know.  I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that the law is, of course, firmly on your side.”  The other men chuckled.

            “We own the cops, Winchester,” Nosering told him. “That means you pay, or bad things happen.”

            Dean’s heart sank.  “We can’t pay you.  Bobby can barely make ends meet, much less pay some thugs for ‘protection’!  Go shake down a business that’s actually making money!”

            Dean suddenly found himself slammed against the side of the Silverado.  He thrashed, ducked under the arm of one and tried to dance away only to find his arms caught.  Two men held him against the Silverado.  Then a fist pounded into his gut.  Dean gagged, doubling over as much as he could while pinned against the side of the truck.

            “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” the thug who’d just hit him was saying.  “For example, you have a very nice car.”

            “Baby’s not for sale!” Dean managed.

            “Oh, this wouldn’t be a sale,” Nosering assured. “It would be more like a gift.”

            “Go to Hell!”

            That earned him another punch in the gut.  “We could also accept the title to this business.”

            “No!  This place isn’t worth shit to you, but it’s all Bobby’s got left!”

            “You’re right.  The land it’s on might be worth something, but you already said the business is failing.  So what to do?”  The thug spread his hands, an exaggerated expression of sympathy on his face.  “I suppose you’ll just have to work for us.”

            “What, you need your cars worked on?”

            “Not the type of body work we had in mind.”

            Dean scoffed.  “There is no way in Hell I’m going to whore myself out for you pricks!”

            Nosering cocked an eyebrow.  “You know, you’re right.  You probably would make it as a male escort.  But that’s not what I meant either.  Word is, you’re a fighter, Winchester.  You got into this mess in the first place because you worked over our guy we sent to get the money from your boss.  Tooled him up pretty good, from what we could see.  That’s a talent we can use.”

            Dean blinked.  “What?”

            “We have scores to settle,” he was informed. “Assholes like your boss who don’t think they should have to pay what they owe.  And me and my confederates here?”  He indicated the men holding Dean.  “Our time is a valuable commodity.  So this is what’s going to happen.  We’re going to give you a name and an address, with an amount.  You’re going to go see the bastard, today or tomorrow. And you’re going to work him over good, just like you did our guy, until he pays.  We’ll be back by tomorrow night, so make it quick.  Any questions?”

            “Does being in a gang mean you lose your minds?” Dean ask.  “Too many drugs fry your brain cells?  Or is this just some sort of ink poisoning from all those stupid tattoos?  Because you’re an idiot if you think I’m going to do that!”

            He got a punch in the face for his pains.  “I do think you’re going to do that.” Another punch in the gut.  “Or it’s going to get a lot worse for you, and your poor wheelchair-riding boss.  Do you understand that?”

            Dean didn’t answer.  Bobby didn’t have the money these assholes demanded.  Dean knew that for a fact, and the old man certainly couldn’t defend himself.  So far, Dean had been able to keep the majority of the gang’s attention on himself. But he certainly couldn’t be with Bobby every minute!  The thought of what these men could do to the man Dean loved like a surrogate father made him feel cold.

            A folded slip of paper landed at Dean’s feet, and the other two thugs let him go.  Dean slid down, cradling his wounded abdomen, and watched the three walk out. Perfect.  With a groan, he reached for the slip of paper and checked it. The name made him frown.  It was an older man who owned a bakery.  The man had never bothered anyone.  Now these assholes wanted Dean to go work him over? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen!

            That meant he had until tomorrow night to try to figure out what to do.  Dean wracked his brains.  Calling the police was obviously out.  Fine.  Dean quickly called the old guy and warned him. The poor guy had immediately started crying, thanking Dean and making plans to retire and shut up his shop. Probably a good move.  Dean had no doubt that, since he refused to play enforcer for the gang, the bastards would just find someone else.

            Which left Dean back to his original problem. The gang wanted money he didn’t have. He forced himself to consider giving up his Baby, but promptly rejected the idea.  Even if he could stand to part with her, taking his Baby would only make the gang happy for a short period of time.  Then they’d be back for more.  No, Dean needed a more permanent solution.  He reluctantly considered the old guy.  Maybe he had the right idea?  Maybe it would be best to just convince Bobby to give up the business and move? But when Dean looked around, he saw everything that his friend had worked and saved his entire life to build. The garage didn’t make much money, but it was Bobby’s, free and clear.  If he sold it now, it would be a fire sale.  He’d only get a fraction of what the property was worth.  No.  Selling and moving out wasn’t really an option, either.  So where did that leave Dean?

            He was still thinking about it as he showered that night, wincing as the soap and water cleaned his many cuts and bruises. Dean knew he could take a beating. He’d had years of experience with that. Between their father’s drunken rages and the drug crowd Sammy got mixed up in for a few years, Dean had taken his share of lumps.  Put in perspective, the beating he’d taken today wasn’t even that bad.  Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.  It was obviously meant as a lesson, a warning of things to come. The next time, Dean knew, would be far, far worse.  And at the moment, he had no idea what, if anything, he could do about it.

            This called for a drink.

            He grabbed a bottle and a glass, poured a couple fingers, and grimaced at the burn.  Unfortunately, the alcohol brought no new revelations.  Bobby!  How could he protect Bobby?  Thanks to Dean, Bobby was only vaguely aware that they’d been targeted.  The grumpy old veteran had informed Dean that anyone who went after him was getting a shotgun blast to the face and had rolled off muttering under his breath.  He had little doubt Bobby would leave his mark on whoever came after him.  But the reality was that Bobby stood little to no chance.  The old man had taken Dean and his brother in after Dean had finally managed to get Sammy away from the drugs and treated them like his own.  The thought of him being broken and beaten made Dean sick. He had to find a way to save him! But how?

            Time to take inventory.  Dean had his pistol with the serial numbers buffed off.  He’d conveniently forgotten where he’d obtained that.  Digging through a bunch of junk produced a pair of brass knuckles.  He honestly did have no idea where they came from.  They went into his pocket.  But he found nothing else of use.  Frustrated, Dean paced around his small apartment.

            He was just about to go back to his table and start drinking for real when something caught his eye.

            Dean moved to the shelf where he kept various knicknacks he’d collected through the years.  Most of them were junk, collecting dust out of sentimentality. But among them was a dusty bottle. For reasons Dean never really considered, he’d carried the bottle with them through move after move, bringing the stupid thing along even after he’d had it in his hand standing over an open bin, ready to toss it with the rest of the junk he didn’t feel like dragging along. Something about the empty bottle had caused Dean to bring it with him across the miles, even stuffing the thing into his backpack with the precious few belongings he’d taken with him when they’d finally run away from their drunken father.  But now, something was different.  As Dean stared at the bottle, something inside of it somehow shifted.

            Dean jumped back with a shout, staring hard at the bottle.  “What the actual fuck?”  He dared move closer.  At first glance, the bottle seemed as empty as it had been for a decade since he’d been conned into buying the stupid thing.  Dean could still feel the twinge of embarrassment he’d felt when Sammy had laughed, realizing he’d bought the thing, and the humiliation he’d felt when his father had slapped him for spending twenty dollars on something so stupid. His father had actually thrown the bottle.  Dean considered it a miracle it didn’t break and had kept it hidden.  He’d spent hours moodily staring into the thing, wondering what, exactly, had gotten into him to actually buy it?  So Dean was beyond certain that the bottle was completely, absolutely, conclusively empty.

            Except it wasn’t.  It was colorless, shapeless, formless, but within the bottle, something swirled.  It never would have showed on a picture or video.  It was more like the shimmer in the air from heat on a summer’s day, like a mirage that faded out quickly when you looked at it.

            Dean inched closer.  In his memory, he was seeing the single deep blue eye he thought he’d seen that day in the shop.  He’d tried the same trick a few times since then, but had never seen anything like it. Dean had dismissed it as some clever con the proprietor had pulled to get him to buy the stupid empty bottle. But as he looked at the shimmering nothing inside of the bottle now, Dean couldn’t help but wonder.  What if he looked again?

            He looked around his empty apartment.  No one watching.  No one would know if he made a fool of himself doing this. Alright.  Dean steeled himself and reached for the bottle.

            The instant his hand touched the bottle, the silver wire securing the cork snapped like an overtightened guitar string.  The end scored a cut on his finger.  Dean yelped, stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked.  Withdrawing the finger, he glared at the little cut.  “Son of a bitch!”

            Then he looked back at the bottle and got the shock of his life.

            The bottle was no longer empty.  Standing in the bottle was what looked for all the world like a teeny tiny man in a trench coat, suit and tie.  A pair of tiny black wings fluttered on his back as he pressed his little hands against the bottle, looking hopefully out at Dean.

            For a moment, Dean only stared.  Then he did the logical thing and poured himself another drink.  It was official.  He’d finally snapped.  Next, he’d be seeing tiny naked fairies, buzzing around him singing “Space Oddity.”

            He heard a faint tapping sound and looked up. The little man – angel?  Dean supposed he was an angel with the feathered wings - in the bottle was still there.  His hands were balled into impossibly tiny fists that he was currently using to pound on the sides of the glass.  Every time he did it, it made the bottle shift slightly.  Apparently, the tiny winged man knew it.  He was pushing hard on the side of the bottle now, getting the bottle to rock more and more violently.  In a moment, it would fall.  Ah, there it went.  The bottle toppled over to its side and rolled to a stop against the fossil next to it. What would the little angel do now? Oh.  He was climbing towards the mouth of the bottle, pushing with all his strength against the cork.  His face was screwed up in effort, feet sliding on the glass.  After a moment, he gave up.  The angel looked around, taking in his surroundings.  He craned his neck to peer around the bit of coal with a fossil in it that was next to his bottle on the shelf.  Deep blue eyes the size of pin heads locked on Dean.  Then he started crawling around inside the bottle, rolling it like a hamster in a ball.

            Dean watched for a time as the angel rolled around on the shelf in his bottle, bumping into other objects and causing them to fall. He was gradually clearing the way along the shelf, moving, yes, the angel was rolling towards Dean.  Dean watched as a picture frame was bumped aside and shattered on the floor below.  He looked back at the angel.  The determined little face was fixed in a frown of concentration.  He was crawling strategically in the bottle, wedging it around to bump the next object off the shelf.  Once it was gone, there would be nothing preventing the bottle from rolling right off the shelf.  A mental picture of the bottle smashing into sharp fragments on the floor filled Dean’s mind.  An imaginary tiny angel twitched in a pool of blood, impaled on a shard of glass.  Ok, nope.  Nuh uh.  Dean got up, walked over to the shelf, and picked up the bottle.  He tilted it until the angel slid to the bottom.  Then he carried it back to the table, sat it down, and went back to his drink.

            The angel got back onto his miniature sensible shoes and looked at Dean through the glass.  He pointed an index finger roughly the size of an eyelash up at the cork in the bottle.

            “Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean announced.  “Not until I have a better idea of what the hell you are.”

            The angel’s mouth moved.  Dean leaned forward, and could faintly hear the angel shouting through the glass.  “I’m Castiel,” the angel was yelling.  “I’m an angel of the Lord.”

            “Angel of the Lord, right.”  Dean’s glass wasn’t empty yet, but he refilled it anyway.  “I thought it was just genies that got trapped in bottles?”

            “This isn’t funny!” the angel yelled.  “Listen, would you please let me out?  I’ll explain everything.”

            Dean capped his booze and shook it at the angel. “You can explain everything from right there.”

            The frustrated angel ran his hands through his already-messy hair, causing it to stick up in all directions. “Please!  I’ve been watching you, waiting for you to grow up and realize your potential for a decade!  Please, just let me out?”

            “First, that’s creepy.  Second, if you’ve been in there for ten years, then I don’t have to worry about you running out of air or starving,” Dean pointed out.  “Seems to me, you’re fine right where you’re at. So start talking.  Keep it short, but help me understand what’s going on here.”

            Castiel sighed.  “Alright.  The short version is, I was on a mission that went poorly.  I was badly injured to the point where I should have died.  But Gabriel, my brother?  He took me to a powerful witch named Rowena.  Rowena enchanted this bottle and locked me inside of it.  The sigils spelled into the glass kept me alive and allowed me to heal.  It took over a century, but obviously, it worked.” The little shoulders shrugged. “There was only one problem - getting me back out.  Only the touch of a Righteous Man could break the seal.  When I saw you in the shop, I called out to you because I knew you would be the one to free me.  You did that. Thank you.  Now if you’ll just pull the cork and let me out?”

            “You know, there’s a couple of things that just don’t make sense to me,” Dean began.  “First of all, the question of selling his own brother aside, why sell you to me?  How’d Gabe know I’d end up being the one who could free you?”

            “He’s Gabriel!” Cass insisted with obviously strained patience.  “He’s an archangel!  He probably consulted the prophet, and...”

            “Ok, Cass, I think I’ve heard enough about that. On to item two.  When your magical, prophet-seeking archangel brother sold your bottle to me, he promised that you’d make it worth my while.  So if I let you out of there, will you make me rich?”

            Cass blinked.  “I have no Earthly treasures I can give you.”

            “Can you make the hottest chick I know fall madly in love with me?”

            “No, of course not!  Humans are capable of free will.  While the cupids can certainly bring two soulmates together, it’s ultimately up to them to...”

            Dean raised his hand.  Then he indicated his bottle.  “Can you at least get me some more hooch?”

            Cass slumped.  “No.”

            “I’m back to thinking I was robbed.”

            “Please!”  Cass was looking at Dean with a hopeless expression now.  “Please, let me out?  I can make it worth your while!”

            “How?”

            A tiny finger pointed at the bruises on Dean’s face.  “You’ve been beaten.  It’s not the first time, not even the first time recently.  You need help.  I can heal you, and protect you.”

            Dean blinked.  Then he burst out laughing.  “Oh, ok! Healing me, I’m willing to buy you could maybe do that.  But how, exactly, are you going to protect me?  When the gang comes back, what are you going to do?  Cute them to death?  Frown sternly at them?”

            “I can protect you,” Cass insisted.  “I’m a warrior of God.”

            “Cas?” Dean called patiently.  “You couldn’t even push the cork out of a bottle.”

            “That’s different!  I’m trapped in here, rendered powerless!  Let me out, and it will be different!”  He pounded his fists on the bottle.  “Let me out, and I’ll be your guardian.  Your protector.  Your partner! Just let me out.  I’ve been trapped in here for over a century!  Please, let me out!”

            The way the little angel was looking at Dean was doing things to him.  Cass had dropped his fists to the side and was simply staring at Dean now.  The tiny face looked so desperate.  Add the little voice begging Dean to let him out and it was almost a given.  Dean groaned. Why was he even trying?  Even if Cass couldn’t do anything more than buzz in his ear, he couldn’t just leave him trapped in the bottle.  “I’m going to regret this,” he grumbled, reaching for the bottle.

            The cork came out easily.  Dean quickly pointed the bottle away from himself, expecting a full-sized angel to come boiling out.  The eye he’d seen as a child had certainly been regular sized. But nothing happened.  “Um, can you put the bottle down?” a tiny voice called from the opened mouth of the bottle.  “It’s going to be a tight fit.”

            Dean put the bottle down on the floor, watching as the angel squirmed and wormed and twisted and wiggled his way through the opening.  Once he got his shoulders and wings out, he strained and flapped until he was able to squink out.  Then he was lying on the floor, panting.

            Dean casually reached down and scooped him up. The little angel gave a squeak of surprise and flapped, sending a spray of tiny black feathers flying.  “Easy!” Dean called.  “I’m Dean.  Nice to meet you, Cass!”

            Cass squirmed around in Dean’s hand until he could stand and face him.  Solemn blue eyes blinked up at him.  “Hello, Dean.”  Then the wings buzzed, and Cass was flying directly at Dean’s face.

            It was all Dean could do to avoid reflexively swatting the little angel out of the air.  He firmly gripped the edge of the table as Cass flew right between his eyes to touch his tiny fingers to Dean’s forehead.  Immediately, the pain eased as Dean’s injuries healed.  “Oooo,” Dean moaned.  “Yeah, ok, that’s good, Cass!  Thanks!”

            “You’re welcome.”  Cass buzzed back to the table, where he gave Dean a small smile.

            Dean smiled back.  It was next to impossible not to.  The little angel was, Dean had to admit, the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “So, what, angels are all tiny except for archangels?”

            Cass looked down at himself.  “This isn’t my true size.  It’s a lingering effect of the spell.  In my true form, I’m taller than your Chrysler building.”

            “Imagine that!”  That, Dean decided, would be much less cute.  “So, what, you’ll grow up?  Would it help if I got some Flintstones, maybe some Miracle-Gro?”

            “Rocks or magical potions won’t be much help,” Cass replied, completely missing Dean’s amazing humor.  “I’m not sure how long it will take until I reach full size.  I hope it’s not more than a couple of days.”

            “A couple of days?”  Dean sighed.  “Great. I’ll be dead in a couple of days.”

            “Dead?”  The little head tilted to one side, the face going back into a frown.  “Why would you be dead?”

            Dean looked down at the earnest little face. Then he told Cass the whole story.

            The angel listened.  Then he nodded.  “Alright. Take me with you.  When these men return, I’ll take care of them.”

            “Um, Cass?  You’re not exactly the size of the Chrysler building now.  I think, if you pop out, they’re more likely to take you and try to sell you as some sort of exotic pet than be afraid of you!”

            “Trust me,” Cass urged.  “I can help.  And I will! I promise.”

****

            Sure enough, right before closing, the gang members showed up.  This time, there were five of them.  None of them looked friendly.  “We gave you a simple job, Winchester,” Nosering called.  “You fucked it up.  Now we’re here to fuck you up.”

            Dean desperately wanted to reply with something witty, but his usual wit failed him.  All he could think about was the tiny angel squirming in his breast pocket. He’d been whispering all day to Cass, explaining what he was doing as he worked on the engine, sneaking Cass bits of his lunch (he’d complained that it tasted like molecules), and earning himself odd looks from Bobby as he wheeled by.  Now Dean’s hand was cupped protectively over the angel.

            “What the hell do you idjits want?!”

            Bobby.  Dean’s heart sank as the old veteran wheeled up, scowling at Nosering.  “Get off my property!”

            Nosering laughed.  “Oh, now, this is nice!  Ok, Winchester, make your choice.  You, or the old man?”

            “Dean!”  Cass was trying to climb out of Dean’s pocket.  “Dean, trust me!”

            Trust him.  Did he really have a choice?  Dean swallowed and nodded.  “I pick choice C, none of the above.  Hey, did I ever introduce you assholes to my guardian angel?  Meet Castiel, angel of the Lord!  Say hello to my little friend!”

            Cass was out, his wings buzzing like an oversized black bumblebee as he hovered in front of Nosering.  “These humans are under my protection,” he announced boldly. “Leave, or I’ll be forced to hurt you!”

            Silence as everyone stared at him.  Then the gang burst into laughter.

            Cass nodded grimly.  “As you wish.  Know that you were warned!”

            He flew at Nosering.  And then Nosering was flying, crashing into the other thugs and sending them scattering like bowling pins.

            Dean couldn’t believe his eyes.  The little angel was darting rapidly around.  And he was opening a serious can of whoop-ass. His tiny fists hit like Mack tucks. He was grabbing thugs by their clothing, their hair, and, unfortunately, an available nosering and throwing them around the garage.  Blood flew. Cries of pain filled the air. Dean stood near Bobby, watching wide-eyed and gape-mouthed as Cass booted the thugs, sending them sprawling out into the street.  Finally, he dragged the Thug Formerly Known As Nosering over by the collar and dropped him in front of Bobby.

            Dean couldn’t believe it.  The theme song for “Mighty Mouse” was running on repeat through his head as he watched.

            Cass hovered protectively in front of Bobby and Dean, glowering at the thug over crossed arms.  “Now.  I want you to look at these two men and give your word that you and your fellows will trouble them no more!”

            “I’ll get you,” Nosehole whined.  “You don’t know who you’re messing with!  When word gets out...?”

            Bobby laughed, a great belly laugh that made him rock in his wheelchair.  “Oh, sure! Get the word out!  Tell all your thug buddies about how Mighty Mouse in a trench coat kicked your ass!”  Apparently, Bobby had been thinking along the same lines as Dean.

            “He’s right!” Dean realized gleefully.  “Tell whoever you want.  Tell everyone!  Then when you’re a laughing stock, Cass will kick your ass again!  He’s an angel, you stupid shit!  Do you think he’s afraid of your gang?  He’ll buzz around and lay out anyone you can find who actually believes your bullshit story.  But seriously!  Who’s going to believe your bullshit story?  You’re finished!  Now get lost!”

            “Leave!” Cass ordered, pointing angrily with one alarmingly-bloody finger.  “Before I throw you out!”

            The thug scrambled up and limped quickly away.

            Dean looked around, seeing the signs of intense violence in the garage.  Blood, hair, and bits of torn clothing were all over the floor.  The tiny angel who’d just landed on the arm of Bobby’s wheelchair was drenched in blood.  He shook like a mini dog and was suddenly clean.  Dean snatched him up and impulsively gave him a kiss, nearly swallowing the startled angel’s head.  “Way to go, Cass!” he cheered.  “That was awesome!”

            “Dean?” Bobby said.  He was remarkably calm for someone who’d just had his life saved by a four inch super strong angel in a trench coat.  “What in tarnation is going on?”

            Dean sighed, put Cass down, and explained the whole story.

            Bobby listened, nodding thoughtfully.  “So, Cass is going to go from bite sized to building sized?”

            “I’ll be human sized in this form,” Cass explained.

            “Then what?” Dean asked, suddenly wanting to know the answer.  “Where will you go then?”

            Cass shrugged his tiny shoulders.  “I imagine I’ll decide that when the time comes.”

****

            The next day, Dean woke up to find a full-sized Castiel sitting on a chair in the corner of his room, silently watching him sleep.  “Creepy,” Dean groaned, sitting up.  He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.  Then he looked Cass over.  Full sized, the angel was around six feet tall.  There was the set of deep blue eyes he’d seen ten years ago when he’d looked into the bottle.  His wings weren’t visible, although Dean was sure they were probably still around somehow. But the expression on the angel’s face was serious.  “Morning, Cass.”

            “Hello, Dean.”

            Cass had a deep, gravelly voice.  It made Dean shiver.  He swung his legs around to the side of the bed, facing the angel. “So.  Back to normal size, at least for this form?”

            “Yes.”  Cass folded his hands in his lap, leaning towards Dean.  “Now, it seems, I have a decision to make.  I’ve been away from heaven for over a century.  Because you saved me, I had an obligation to repay you. But I did that when I defended you. So now I have no further obligation.”

            “No, I guess not.”  Dean’s heart pounded.

            “However, since I was gone, until I report to Heaven, I have no obligation there, either,” Cass continued.

            “So, you could stay?” Dean ventured.

            Cass cocked his head to one side and studied Dean. “Is there a reason I should?”

            “W-well, those thugs still might come back?” Dean offered quickly.  “You should stick around, you know, make sure they don’t.  And even if they stay away, there might be other trouble.  And Bobby could use some help.  And you liked learning about engines, right?  If you stayed with me, we could both work for him at the garage, get more done, and get him some more business.  That would be really good, and...  And...”

            The angel was still studying him.  His expression was impossible to read.  “So, your only reasons I should stay are that I can be useful?”

            “I want you to stay,” Dean blurted.  “Please stay, Cass?”

            And now a smile spread over the angel’s face. “Was it worth your while?  Buying my bottle, I mean?”

            Dean smiled back.  “Yeah,” he admitted.  “Yeah, it really was.  Best twenty dollars I ever spent!”

THE END


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